I speak into the entry phone, feeling a thrill at the sound of her voice telling me to come on up, the door swinging open for me. I adjust my collar, run my fingers through my hair and reflect for a moment. When we first met, she was gauche and awkward although pretty. I can already see the change in her since we started ‘accidentally’ meeting over the last few weeks, becoming more confident and well groomed, almost glowing. I chuckle to myself – if only she knew how hard I have worked to bump into her, how I have craved these meetings. I resolve to just take the evening as it comes, not rush things along and let her take it where she will.I have boldly invited him over to my place this evening, hoping that what we started on the dancefloor the night before will continue. I was too shy to invite him over straight after the party, and my heart seems to leap into my throat as I wonder what this night will bring. I hear his step on the stairs, and arrange myself demurely but invitingly. An article dated a year later related the efforts of the families of the two missing women to find them. One of them had been her mother. The other had been her aunt.A small number of pages of hand written notes were also present. A couple of diaries were lying next to the file. One was much older than the other. It was the personal account of her grandmother detailing her feeling of the abandonment she felt when her mother went missing when she was but fifteen years old. The other diary was from her sister. It also told of her feelings when their mother had turned up missing. It also related her astonishment upon finding the documents that Mary had just read.The women in their family were either runaways or, as Faith and now Mary believed, somehow stolen away into slavery or just murdered and never found. Faith had decided that she had to find out. She had written down what she considered leads. The police had not seriously considered her theories. Mary had not wanted Faith to 'poke.
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